


leaves on a pear tree (the you're so young remix)

by coricomile



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossover, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 14:19:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1553432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The magic,” Merlin says. “Isn’t it funny that it’s you with it this time around instead of me? Imagine what Uther would say.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	leaves on a pear tree (the you're so young remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [qwerty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwerty/gifts).
  * Inspired by [a ribbiting tale of terror and chocolate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/374827) by [qwerty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwerty/pseuds/qwerty). 



Merlin stares at his watch, bouncing in the cold as the time clicks over. He’s wearing his thickest coat, a sweater, and one of Arthur’s ridiculous scarves, but the chill still sinks in under all of the cloth. He hit his growth spurt last summer and rocketed up but not out. No matter how many sweets Arthur stuffs into his face.

The alley is deserted. It always is whenever Merlin gets there. No matter how many people are on the main road, they always avoid the alley like the Ripper’s going to come after them if they step on a single cobblestone. To be fair, before that day Arthur had dragged him into it, he had never even noticed it before. 

“Thinking of me?” Arthur asks as he shoulders past Merlin, closer to the building. 

“You wish,” Merlin says. It’s been nearly six months since the last time Merlin had managed to get down to London. Arthur’s gotten broader and even more smug since them. Merlin rolls his eyes, but makes sure to keep watch on Arthur’s wand.

No matter how many times he sees the bricks rearranging themselves, it doesn’t stop being amazing. Original amazing, not modern definition amazing. Jaw dropping, heart stopping, breath stealing _awe_. 

“Shut your mouth, you idiot,” Arthur says as he steps into the pub. He adjusts his coat and hands Merlin his wand. “You look like a fish.”

“A _tall_ fish,” Merlin says absently.

Arthur’s wand is long and thin and made of oak. It’s warm from riding in his pocket. Merlin rubs his thumb over the handle. There’s a new nick right on the base of the stem. Merlin waves it, like he does every time, but nothing happens. Nothing ever happens.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Merlin asks as they sit down at their usual table. The owner, a pretty blonde woman, brings them their usual butterbeers with a bright smile. 

“What? Your face?” Arthur takes a sip of his drink. It leaves a little white line above his lip. It blends in with the furry little blonde wisp of mustache that he’s been trying to grow. 

“Hilarious, you are.” Merlin waves the wand again and Arthur snatches it away from him. 

“This isn’t a _toy_ , you nit.” Arthur puts the wand away and Merlin sighs at its loss. There are others flashing all about in the pub as people go about their business, but none of them are as fascinating as Arthur’s. 

“But the magic,” Merlin says. “Isn’t it funny that it’s you with it this time around instead of me? Imagine what Uther would say.” Arthur winces. It’s been centuries, but it might still be too soon. “ _Me_ , the father of magic without any magic.”

“You’re fifteen,” Arthur says. He finishes off his butterbeer and reaches for Merlin’s. His hands have become massive. “You aren’t old enough to be the father of _anything_ , let alone the sacred art of _magic_. Do try to clear your head of delusions.”

“You just don’t want to admit that I was once the greatest sorcerer in all the world.” Merlin slaps Arthur’s hand and takes his mug back. Some of it splashes onto the table, sticky and sweet. Almost immediately a cloth whizzes by and cleans it up. “You have to study me in class.”

“Too bad the greatest sorcerer in the world can’t even make sparks.” Arthur makes some sort of elaborate hand gesture to the waitress that Merlin assumes means soup. There’s a dozen different kinds of soup that Merlin can never tell apart, but Arthur always remembers which one he likes best. “Even a first year can make sparks.”

The dreams had started the day after he’d met Arthur. Big, scary dreams with dragons and castles and great open spaces that looked nothing like Ireland. At the time he had thought it was because of the _thing_ \- the _dementor_ \- being so close to him, but after the fourth week, he’d realized they were memories. 

And Arthur, that kid in the weird scarf and robe, was still just as bossy as he had been then. 

“Maybe I just haven’t grown into my powers yet,” Merlin hedges. 

He knows he hasn’t got them. He remembers feeling it in his body like a second heartbeat. His heart’s flying solo these days. It doesn’t bother him, not really. It isn’t his destiny anymore. “Maybe I’ll get them again when you get your shiny new throne.”

“Oh, will you just shut up?” Arthur grabs Merlin by the front of his sweater and yanks him across the seat. He tastes like butterscotch when he presses his lips to Merlin’s.

This, Merlin thinks, is what he’s been waiting centuries for. 

Arthur is warm and solid under his hands, all sweet teenage boy and proper manners. He keeps his hand in Merlin’s sweater, but it feels more like he’s hanging on than pulling. Kissing Arthur feels like- like magic. Real, sparkling magic.

“Soup’s here, boys,” the waitress says behind them. Merlin nearly topples off his seat, but Arthur’s fingers wrapped in his shirt keeps him from falling. She smiles as she sets their bowls down on the table. “Eat up.”

They slurp at their soups in silence, neither one of them looking away from the chunky orange broth. Merlin feels dizzy and warm and very, very alive. When the soup is gone and the silence is overwhelming, Arthur shoves his hands into his pockets. His elbow jabs into Merlin’s ribs.

“I got these for you,” Arthur says, holding out a fistful of sweets packages like they’ve personally offended him. “I know you like them.”

Merlin takes the whole lot and tucks them into his pockets. Magic candy always tastes sweeter than the stuff he can get at his own shops. The batch will last him until their next break. 

“Thanks.” Merlin smiles, big and just shy of goofy. 

“I should-” Arthur pushes away from their table and wraps himself back up in his sensible jacket. “School. I need to go back soon.”

Merlin lets Arthur pay for their lunch, lets Arthur walk him back to the train station. They hem and haw and poke at each other until Merlin trips over his own feet and into Arthur’s arms like a damsel.

“Greatest sorcerer in all of history,” Arthur says softly. Merlin grins.

“Think about me in class.” He wiggles up and presses a quick, dry kiss to the corner of Arthur’s mouth. He’s fifteen for a second go around, but this time he doesn’t have destiny riding his back. Maybe it’s a reward for last time.

As he boards the train, Merlin peels open the package of a chocolate frog. It wiggles in his hand as he frees it. He grabs it before it can hop away. When he stuffs it into his mouth, it tastes smooth and sweet as ever. 

He tucks the happy, laughing face of Ron Weasley into his pocket and smiles to himself.


End file.
